


Dream a Little Dream

by Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)



Series: BINGO [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angel is certainly curious, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Washes Crowley's Feet (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Flirting (Good Omens), Daydreams, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Grey-Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hugs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Knight Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Medieval Maiden Crowley (Good Omens), Monster Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Noah's Ark, Oysters, Post-Canon, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Post-Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Rapunzel Elements, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Well...could be a LITTLE oblivious, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000, look chapter 4 is just sad sorry, well more like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Prompts
Summary: Aziraphale rarely dreamed.He didn’t sleep, so that already made it exceedingly unlikely. But sometimes – when his mood struck him just so – his mind would start to drift, and he experienced what humans called daydreaming.And he always dreamed about one specific demon.Who, unknown to Aziraphale, would dream of him back...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BINGO [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017241
Comments: 106
Kudos: 184
Collections: Good Omens (Complete works), Kisses Bingo





	1. 3004 BC: Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the Kisses Bingo event. As I have fallen behind on prompts, I decided to create a multi-chapter fic covering as many prompts as possible. Also as much smooching and soft touching as possible.

Aziraphale rarely dreamed.

He didn’t sleep, so that already made it exceedingly unlikely. But one didn’t necessarily have to be asleep to dream.

Sometimes – when his mood struck him just so, when the here and now was just the right combination of distressing and dull – his mind would start to drift, to ponder possibilities and roll out fanciful scenarios, and he experienced what humans would, eventually, name  _ daydreaming. _

Seven days ago, the floodwater had lifted the Ark and borne it far from the patch of desert where it rested. Seven days of floating, bobbing along, no sound apart from the snap of sails or the groan of rope and the constant, ceaseless fall of rain. No sign of land or life except what existed here, on the ship. His thoughts kept tugging in terrifying directions, paths they should certainly never go down.

Normally, he would throw himself into his work, focus his entire mind on the task, leaving no room for – for the  _ unnamed _ emotions that, as an angel, he  _ certainly didn’t feel. _

But, after seven days…nothing remained to be done.

And so, Aziraphale rested, leaning against the rail, watching the waves bob up and down. It was dry where he stood - an easy enough miracle - but all else was wet and grey: slate grey waves below a coal grey sky, and silvery mist in between. 

It was the height of summer. There should be sunlight. There should be…birds of some description. Geese, perhaps. Pelicans. There should be marsh weeds with storks browsing for fish, river otters paddling across the current.

There should be people. Little flat boats drifting downriver to the city, filled with traders or fishers. Women with baskets on their backs loaded with dates and pistachios harvested from the groves. Children splashing on the banks, covered in mud and happy for it.

A creak behind him – possibly a footstep, possibly beams of wood settling against each other – and suddenly long arms wrapped around his waist, pulled him back in an embrace. His shoulders bumped against a narrow chest, a sharp chin rested lightly atop his head. Streamers of red hair - curling in the damp - whipped past his face, blowing in the erratic wind.

“S’not your fault, Angel,” a rough voice said. “Nothing you could do.”

“Yes, there was. There  _ must  _ have been.” His hands tightened on the rail of the ship, even as the arms tightened around him. “Why, why would they give me so much  _ warning _ if not to  _ do _ something?”

“What were you supposed to do? Change the Almighty’s mind?” The chin brushed across his hair, as the being behind him shook his head. “Think what happened last time we tried that.”

“I could have evacuated the villages. Sent the children away.  _ Something.” _

“Were you ordered to?”

“I…I wasn’t ordered  _ not _ to…”

“Aziraphale.” Another wave of red hair across his face, as lips dipped down to his ear. A whisper all but lost under the wind and the waves and the thunder. “Those are dangerous words for an angel.”

“I can’t just stand by and watch. That  _ can’t  _ be my purpose.”

“Don’t do this. If anyone hears you…”

“No one can hear me, Crawly.” He took a deep breath. “Because none of this is real.”

Aziraphale turned around and gazed across the empty deck. No tall dark figure lurked in the shadows, no golden eyes dancing with a joke only they could see.

Just as well. What had Aziraphale been thinking? Of all the creatures in creation to confide in, why had he imagined  _ a demon? _

He brushed off his robes and went to find something to do.

\--

_ “No one can hear me, Crawly. Because none of this is real.” _

Crawly woke suddenly, limbs jerking, and sucked in a deep breath.

The child in his arms mumbled in surprise. “Shhh, s’alright,” he soothed, lulling her back to sleep before she could make too much noise.

Even his demonic eyes could hardly penetrate the complete darkness below the lowest deck of the Ark. The children were little more than shadows, hunched on narrow shelves he’d quickly miracled into the empty space. Bilge water sloshed below them, bracken and sour.

Twenty kids. He hadn’t expected to get that many. He could only hope they’d last, that he could keep miracling up more bread and fresh water until this blessed rain ended.

He sat up carefully, moving the smallest child to rest safely back against the beams of the hull. She’d been afraid of falling into the water, and still might if she moved too much, but Crawly needed to tend to the rest.

A young boy huddled nearby, a deep scrape on his knee. Didn’t look infected; Crawly couldn’t spare the miracle to heal it unless it was an emergency. But he paused to kiss the boy’s knee, rubbing his thumb over the scab, and got a weak smile in return.

Standing up, Crawly rolled the stiffness out of his shoulders, thinking of the dream. Why had he imagined  _ that? _

Wishful thinking, maybe. Back at Eden, Aziraphale had seemed…open to real thought. Not entirely convinced by Heaven’s rules. But he’d seen nothing of those doubts outside, as the rains started to fall.

He wished he had. Wished Aziraphale had said even  _ one word _ before boarding the ship and leaving the people to their doom.

_ I can’t just stand by and watch. _

He wished it were true. That there was one other being in the world that felt as he did.

But what could you really expect from an angel?

Crawly shook his head and stepped from one makeshift shelf to the next, where a brother and sister huddled, sucking on an empty waterskin. “Let me refill that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was "Hug from Behind/Knee Kiss." The rules don't require your primary couple to the target of every one of the kisses, but I promise I don't cheat too many times. Also, I wanted to show Crowley really caring for the kids.
> 
> Not much in terms of history notes here; Mesopotamia was not, in fact, known for its massive cruise-ship-sized arks, so I based the sounds and feel of it on later ship designs.   
> However, the plantlife, people and animals are as accurate as I could make them; the Persian Gulf reached further inland back then, and the Tigris and Euphrates rivers ended in extensive and fertile marshlands (which still exist today, but smaller and further downriver).
> 
> "Perchance to Dream," of course, comes from Hamlet, and was suggested by Sosser86. "Hamlet" is a play by William Shakespeare, a fact which nearly all Good Omens fans are aware of. :D
> 
> Love all my readers, please comment if you're enjoying this!


	2. AD 41: A Kiss to Build a Dream On

“My point is,” Crowley said, waving his cup. “My point _is…”_ He frowned, scratching at his hair. “I forgot what I was talking about.”

Aziraphale laughed, a truly delightful sound that made Crowley grin every time. “Then it could hardly have been _important,_ could it?”

He watched Aziraphale sip his own wine. The oysters were gone, but still they lingered, Aziraphale reclined across his couch, Crowley sitting up and letting his feet swing across the floor. He didn’t like laying down to eat, and anyway, it was easier to see the expressions that crossed the angel’s face from here.

The laughter trailed off to an easy smile and a friendly glow of eyes. Crowley never wanted to look away.

“What are you doing here, Angel?” he found himself asking.

“Enjoying these lovely – oh, I appear to be out. _Digesting_ these lovely oysters. What—”

“Nah, not that.” Crowley stood up, but his legs wobbled and he nearly tripped over the small round table that stood between them, wound up sprawled back across his own couch. Aziraphale giggled again. “I mean, what are you doing…with me?”

Suddenly, those blue eyes were very serious. “My dear fellow, where else would I be?”

“Dunno. Anywhere, I guess. This is _Rome._ City of a thousand pretentious arseholes. No offense.”

“Well, _now_ I’m offended.”

“You could be talking to – to philosophers, or – or scientists, or those people who just make arguments for a living.”

“Rhetoricians?”

 _“Lawyers._ You could be arguing about the state of the world and – and sharing brilliant new ideas. Instead, you’re just…drinking wine with me.” Aziraphale was sitting up, too, and Crowley didn’t think he could handle the intensity of his gaze. “Ngk. Don’t listen to me, I’m just drunk.”

“You don’t _sound_ drunk.”

“Mh.” Crowley shrugged, looking down at his cup. Why was it still full?

“You know…” Aziraphale started slowly, thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I think…I think at first, I was just happy to see a familiar face. Or, perhaps, someone I didn’t have to…pretend to be human around. It’s rather lovely, you know, simply being yourself.” Crowley heard a shift of fabric as Aziraphale stood, but resolutely did not look up. “And, well, I had been meaning to come here for some time. But it’s always better to  _ share _ a meal. In fact, it’s one of my favorite past times. I suppose I didn’t need to bring  _ you  _ but…”

The couch settled as Aziraphale sat beside him.

“…I’m glad I did.”

“Just saying that cuz you’re drunk,” Crowley muttered.

“No, I’m really not.” A finger caught Crowley’s chin, tilted his face up to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “I…I had a really wonderful time tonight. With you.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and pressed it between both of his. “I did, too. I didn’t think – I mean, things have been bad the past few days. Past few months. Past few centuries. I don’t remember the last time I just let myself sit and _enjoy_ something.”

“You hardly even had any oysters.”

“S’not the oysters I enjoyed.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head forward until his forehead bumped against Aziraphale’s. “I…I’d like to do this again…”

“As would I, dear boy. I’d like that…very much.”

“Tomorrow?” If he turned his head, the tip of his long nose brushed along the angel’s snub, sending a jolt of starfire through his mind.

“Yes. And the next day, and the next…”

His lips found Aziraphale’s, and he pressed just the smallest, lightest kiss he could, on the very corner of his mouth. Where it couldn’t be intrusive, or offensive, or anything more than a polite greeting.

He waited for Aziraphale to pull back, anyway, shocked at the imposition.

Instead, he turned into it, mouth moving across Crowley’s, gliding gently, to press against his lower lip. A strong arm wrapped around Crowley’s shoulders, even as his hands slid around Aziraphale’s waist.

Lips parted – he could taste Aziraphale’s breath, hot and quick, as they fell back onto the bed—

Crowley opened his eyes into the pre-dawn gloom, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling of his set of rooms. It was the coldest month of the year, but it wasn’t the weather that left him feeling chilled and empty.

He should have said something. Two hours together, and he’d just glowered and scowled and grunted responses, getting more sullen with every cup of wine. He should have said… _something._

What if Aziraphale never wanted to talk to him again?

Groaning, Crowley flung a hand across his face and tried to get back to sleep. Maybe this time there wouldn’t be any dreams.

\--

Aziraphale dropped his pen with alarm, shaking himself out of his daydream.

What on _Earth_ had brought that on? Yes, he’d had a lovely time at the restaurant – the oysters had been scrumptious, the wine not too pungent, and he’d had the satisfaction of watching Crowley slowly relax and let his guard down across two hours, but – but this!

He staggered away from the writing desk, letting the papyrus snap back into a roll.

_S’not the oysters I enjoyed._

His heart jumped again at the imagined words, at the way he’d pictured Crowley’s eyes smoldering as he said it. Just before he leaned forward and…and…

Aziraphale pushed his shaking fingertips to his lips. He’d never really considered _kissing_ anyone before, though it was a popular form of greeting around here. It seemed invasive, and a little uncomfortable. But that had been…rather nice. Warm. And far more than simply polite.

He rather wished he’d let the fantasy play out a little longer.

“No, no, no,” he snapped firmly, smoothing out the scroll on which his latest report was written. “That has – has nothing to do with you. Put it out of your mind and get back to…”

Sketched at the bottom of the papyrus roll, a single eye with a distinctive, narrow pupil. In the flicker of the oil lamps’ light, it seemed almost alive.

_I…I’d like to do this again…_

Oh. If Aziraphale really believed that…

“Another cup of wine! That’s what I need. Nice refreshing drink. Bring my mind into focus.” He picked up the nearest lamp and headed for the door, down towards the pantry. “I wonder if there are any of those nice rolls left…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was "Forehead Bump/Corner of the Mouth Kiss" and I was happy to fit in both!
> 
> History notes:  
> \- "Scientists" might not be the best term, because the line between philosophy, science, and history in Roman times was...pretty fluid. But sometimes you have to just go with what conveys the idea quickest! (Restaurant isn't very correct either, really.)  
> -Rhetoricians: Rhetoric is the study of persuasion and argument. Strictly speaking, a lawyer or politician who is convincing does so because he is a good rhetorician.  
> -Kissing: In Roman times, a common form of greeting, but HOW you kissed carried a lot of meaning. Cheek or mouth. Open lips or closed. Whether you held each other's faces. Suffice to say, Crowley's quick peck on the lips COULD read as fairly platonic, but what followed...not so much.  
> -Writing: By the first century, Romans had access to a wide variety of writing materials, depending on the needs of the moment. Pen and ink on papyrus (obtained from Egypt) would be good for reports and documents intended to be archived, and kept in rolls or scroll cases. On the other hand, a quick note home while traveling might be scrawled on a broken piece of pottery.  
> -Oysters were considered by Romans an aphrodisiac. A fact that Aziraphale must certainly have been aware of, and probably Crowley as well. Take from that what you will.
> 
> "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" is a lovely little song originally performed by Louis Armstrong in 1951. Title was suggested by Under-the-linden-tree.


	3. AD 1017: The Impossible Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Crowley presenting as, at different points: male, female, non-binary, and dragon.
> 
> Aziraphale uses he/him pronouns but is also depicted as somewhat fluid.

The knight rode his white stallion easily through the mist, mirror-bright armor resting lightly on his back and limbs. Ahead, a brilliant white stone tower rose, tall enough to pierce the sky, its peak obscured by black storm clouds. Rose bushes thick with thorns surrounded the base, barring all entry except through a single window, nearly a hundred feet high.

He swung himself down from the saddle and strode across the green sward. “Fair maiden!” The warrior lifted the visor of his helm, throwing his voice to echo off the stone. “Tales of your sorrows have spread throughout the kingdom. But fear not, for I, Sir Aziraphale, have come to rescue you from your sordid fate and see you safely hence!”

Far above, a figure leaned from the window. Narrow face pale above a deep black dress, clinging tightly to every curve and angle. Long limbs lost in sweeping crimson sleeves perfectly matched to the figure's main feature: endless waves of dark red hair. A single lock slipped free and tumbled down the side of the tower, nearly long enough to brush the ground below. Long-fingered hands cradled a pert chin as shining eyes took in the knight.

“Really? That’s what you’re going to open with?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s gauntlet struck his hip with an annoyed  _ clank. _ “I was  _ trying _ to set a mood here.”

“You certainly set something.” Crowley chuckled, sending another ripple through the ocean of red hair. “I mean, it started well enough, I guess, but  _ sordid fate? See you safely hence?  _ Kind of falls flat if you ask me. Didn’t even  _ mention  _ slaying any wicked beasts.”

“Well. Not really the slaying sort.”

“Don’t let the princesses hear you say that.” Crowley’s fingers drummed on the windowsill. “They all love to see a good slaying. As for what comes next, is  _ safety _ all you can promise? Might hold out for a better offer.”

“I hardly think you’re in a – a  _ bargaining _ position up there.”

“Oi, you know how many knights have come by before you? I usually stop counting after twelve, and that was a while back. This tower is  _ prime  _ real estate.” A flash of white teeth behind blood red lips. “Most of them were  _ much _ better at the speeches, you know. I can give you pointers if you like.”

Aziraphale shifted his cape back over his shoulders, covering his armor. “This isn’t a  _ game, _ Crowley. Can’t you be serious for  _ once _ in your life?”

_ “Everything _ is a game, Angel.” A flick of Crowley's head sent another river of hair wriggling down the side of the tower. Thick, loose curls, with a strong braid running through the middle. The tips of the hair came to rest twenty feet above the rose bushes. “Oh, will you look at that? Guess I shouldn’t have trimmed it last week, but you know. Split ends. Did you bring a ladder? None of the other knights brought ladders. You’d think, maiden in a tower, that’s the  _ first  _ thing they’d grab.”

“How many knights managed to scale the tower?”

“Jealous?” Crowley braced against the window frame and leaned forward, spilling out the rest of the hair, as well as an ample expanse of bosom. “Don’t worry, the dragon got all of them. They may have talked nice, but they were just shiny armor and fancy words. No substance. Not like  _ you, _ of course.”

“Flattery won’t win me over.”

“Flattery can do anything, properly applied.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and adjusted his helmet again. Really, none of this was going remotely to plan. He ought to just drop it and walk away, but not until he was absolutely sure of one thing. “Crowley. Are you alright? The rumors all say that the maiden in the tower is being held against her will. Do…do you need help?”

Crowley’s head tipped this way and that, thinking it over. “Well…yes, I suppose. See, I can’t leave this tower until someone tames the dragon. Why, did  _ you _ want to try?”

“That was the plan, yes.” He glanced about. The tower was atop a hill, so despite the mist he could see a fair distance. No sign of any monster. “But, if we can get you down before it returns…”

“Nh. Well. About that.” Crowley’s grin grew wider, face grew longer, splitting into a black-scaled, arrow-shaped head with a mouth full of fangs and smoke. “I’m the maiden  _ and _ the dragon. Ssseemed more efficient that way.”

Delicate, thin hands turned to claws, carving deep cracks into the stone of the wall, and the spill of hair twisted into a long red tail that slashed and darted through the air.

Aziraphale’s horse fled with a terrified scream, but the angel stood his ground, braced and unflinching as the tail wrapped around him, lifted him, pulled him through the air like a fish on a line.

All at once, he was inside the creature’s lair, a deep stone cave filled with stalactites and stalagmites, a pile of shining treasure somewhere just out of sight. One scaled fist clutched the angel from breastplate to greave, while a claw dragged around the edge of his helm, scratching curiously.

“Well? Aren’t you going to sssscream?”

Aziraphale found one golden eye, towering somewhere above him, and held its gaze. “And why should I do that?”

“I’m a monsssster, you idiot.” The fist tightened slightly, enough to make the armor creak and groan. “I could dessstroy you in an insssstant.”

“But you won’t.” Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders, pulling his arms free one at a time. “You won’t hurt me. Ever.”

“How can you be ssssure?” Twin gouts of steam shot from enormous nostrils, volcanically hot. “You should kill me before I tear you apart.”

“You really do need to listen better. I already told you, I’m not the slaying type. I’m here to save you from your fate, no more, no less.”

“You can’t – Angel, there’sss nothing to  _ ressscue _ me from! You can’t take me away from myself.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t say anything about taking you away.” Aziraphale swept the helmet off his head, dropping it to clatter across the cavern floor. A mass of curly white hair shook free, not as long as Crowley’s had been, but wild and loose, spilling across his shoulders and face. “If you can be both prisoner and dragon…I am both knight and maiden.” His hands rested on the claw that hovered before his face, drawing it close, pressing his cheek to it. “I’m here to rescue you. I’m here to  _ join _ you.”

“Angel…” The tip of the claw traced across his skin, sharp but gentle, and tucked a lock of hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. “You can’t…you can’t want that.”

“My dear Crowley. What more could I want? You are my  _ friend, _ my trusted companion. The one being who…who makes me feel… _ myself. _ Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Please, Crowley, let me do the same for you.”

The clawed hand opened, and suddenly Aziraphale stood on Crowley’s palm, every opalescent scale as big as his own hand. Nothing held him back now. He could jump. He could flee.

Instead, Aziraphale knelt down, armor melting into a shining silver gown, and curled up in the cup of Crowley’s hand as if it were the softest down bed in the world. Pressed his lips to the draconian palm. “Whatever form you take, you are the most  _ beautiful _ creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you mean that?”

Aziraphale glanced up in time to see the dragon’s snout melting again, softening, re-shaping into a narrow face with high cheekbones; neither male nor female, human nor dragon; black scales traced back from a jaw too wide, golden eyes stared unblinking below a sharply sloped brow. The hands that clutched Aziraphale’s elbows were still tipped with sharp claws, and a bright red tongue – splitting into a charcoal-black fork – shot out to taste the air.

He smiled, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. “There you are! My darling…” Aziraphale kissed those thin lips, tasting their desert-dry heat, and felt trembling hands clutch at his hair.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale pressed close, hands tracing down Crowley’s sinuous, bare back, feeling the form shift under his touch – scales, soft skin, silky hair, hot, cold, always changing. Crowley’s tongue flicked down his neck, just to the neckline of his gown, questioning.

“Yes,” he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “Oh, yes, Crowley—”

The wagon bounced over a hole in the road, jostling all its contents, including an angel who had been more than a little lost in his thoughts. The rap of his skull against a barrel helped to clear his mind.

Aziraphale quickly tugged his tunic straight and ran his hands through his hair – cut short, as always, regardless of the current fashion – glancing furtively at the other travelers. Two men and an older woman had also hitched a lift to the nearest city. He felt certain they must somehow  _ know _ what he had imagined, that somehow the intensity of the fantasy had projected itself into the air around them—

But, no, all three sat, arms folded, concerned only with their own thoughts and their own troubles.

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale settled back into the corner of the wagon, tugging up the hood of his undyed wool cloak to hide the flush of his cheeks.

He daydreamed  _ far _ more often than he used to, particularly while traveling – and more and more often, his fantasies featured one particular being. Though they were rarely so complex. Not to mention so  _ physical. _ His imagination had simply run away with him, as sometimes happened.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the grip on his shoulders, drawing him deeper into the embrace—

Oh, no. No, that was dangerous. Crowley would never agree to…oh, whatever that little fantasy had symbolized. A  _ partnership _ of some kind.

Well, no that wasn’t true. Crowley  _ had _ suggested a partnership…an Arrangement…once before. Dropped hints every time they met lately. Aziraphale had refused to even consider it, but perhaps…perhaps…the time had come to think again.

Not just yet. Better to consider such things in  _ complete  _ privacy. He took the fantasy and carefully wrapped it in soft cotton, tucking it into the hidden drawer of his mind where he kept his very favorite daydreams, to revisit at a more opportune moment. He would need something simpler to entertain him on the ride.

Aziraphale carefully selected another dream, well-worn from use, and his mind slowly filled with a little stone cottage in a forest glade, the sound of waves echoing from just out of sight, and a dark-robed figure with red hair dancing in the wind, picking blackberries from the bushes…

\--

_ “There you are!” Aziraphale’s hands cupped Crowley’s face, hideous and twisted though it was, but he only smiled, so warmly, so guilelessly, that it broke Crowley’s heart all over again. “My darling…” The angel rose up on his toes to press full, plump lips to Crowley’s mouth, arms pulling the demon into an embrace so close, so tight, that clawed hands scrambled to reciprocate. _

_ “Angel…” Crowley meant to kiss Aziraphale’s jaw, but the serpent tongue had a mind of its own, exploring his neck down to the opening of his gown, the swells and curves hidden underneath. Surely that would be the last straw; surely  _ now  _ Aziraphale would see Crowley was nothing more than a beast, a monster whose very presence defiled everything pure. Crowley waited for the rejection, for Aziraphale to struggle to get away— _

_ “Yes,” the soft voice curled into Crowley’s ear, even as soft hands clutched at narrow hips. “Oh, yes, Crowley—” _

He snapped awake, scrambling to keep his balance on the branch as the wind chilled his flushed skin.

That had… _ not _ been the dream he expected. Usually, after an attempted exorcism, he had bad dreams for a week.

Crowley had fallen asleep in a tree, after being driven out of the nearby village by an overzealous priest. It happened more often these days; the humans were becoming more  _ aware,  _ somehow, more able to see him for what he really was. He’d need to improve his disguise, work harder to fit in.

Work harder to be anything other than himself.

_ The one being who…who makes me feel…myself. Who makes me feel that’s nothing to be ashamed of. _

“Easy for you,” he grumbled into the darkness. “You’re a blessed  _ angel. _ You’re as bloody  _ perfect _ as the day you were made. Why would you ever feel ashamed? And I’m – I’m just…”

_ Whatever form you take, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. _

He closed his eyes again, trying to catch that warmth, that feeling of acceptance, one more time. Not that Aziraphale  _ actually _ felt that way, he’d rejected Crowley's idea for an Arrangement, cut him off any time he tried to even bring it up. But still…

Crowley drifted off to sleep, hoping he’d dream of Aziraphale again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Then prompt for this chapter was "Palm Kiss/Tucking Hair Behind Ear." The result was...absolutely not where I thought this was going to go.
> 
> Another shout out to Elf-on-the-Shelf, the internet's #1 Rapunzel!Crowley stan, who probably wants me to make an entire 10k fic just about our favorite demon as sarcastic fairytale princesses.
> 
> History notes:  
> -Crowley's dress is a bliaut. Is it possibly a few decades early? Yes. Will I ever imagine Medieval Crowley wearing anything other than a bliaut? Probably not. Technically this should be the earlier version, with a loose bodice, entire dress made from one piece of cloth. Crowley is perfectly capable of leapfrogging one to two centuries to get the better fashions, though.  
> -Aziraphale's armor is completely inaccurate to the time period and that is Neil Gaiman's fault. :D  
> -Rapunzel is largely recognized as a German fairy tale, first published by the Brothers Grimm in 1812. However, it can easily be traced to the tale of Zal and Rudabeh in the 11th century Persian "Shanameh" (Book of Kings), one of the world's longest epic poems, though climbing long hair is more of a brief detail than a central feature. Still, it had been around a few years by 1017, which is enough time for the details to get a little muddled.
> 
> "The Impossible Dream (The Quest)" is the most popular song from the 1965 musical, "Man of La Mancha" (the musical about Don Quixote). It is one of maybe three musicals my mother likes, but sadly one of the others is "The Sound of Music." :D
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this!


	4. 1893: Don't Dream It's Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains angst.

The doors of the bookshop opened at Crowley’s lightest touch, and he drifted in as if borne by the wind.

The pale figure stood with his back to the entry, sliding one book after another onto the shelf, pausing now and then to dust a finger along the bindings.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, “I’m sorry.” But his voice was little more than a sigh.

He moved closer, as the pages of books lying open on the tables rustled, turning over themselves. The angel stared at something in his hands, lost in thought.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley tried again, struggling to be heard. “I do need you.”

He came to a halt behind Aziraphale, so close he could feel the heat emanating off his back. Long arms slid around the angel's waist, and Crowley pulled even closer, until he could feel every curve of Aziraphale, the stiffness in his shirt, the softness between his shoulder blades. Crowley's chin slipped over Aziraphale's shoulder to press their cheeks together, and he reveled in the warmth of his skin.

But no response. Not the slightest movement.

“Aziraphale.” One last try. “I love you.”

The slightest tremble ran through Aziraphale, starting in his gut, rising up his arms, and emerging as a wavering voice: “Oh. Oh, my dear Crowley. I have always loved you.”

Crowley pulled in tighter, eyes shut, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s, trying to hold on even as everything turned misty and faded, even as the warm body in his arms turned to twisted fabric. Even as the bookshop dissolved, and he could feel his bed beneath him, feel the pillow clutched in his arms.

“No,” he moaned, burying his face in the pillow, “come back. Please.”

He struggled to hold in tears, trying desperately to return to that dream.

\--

“Oh. Oh, my dear Crowley. I have always loved you.”

The wind shifted and for a moment he could imagine it was Crowley back again, that they were still friends, that a chasm of angry words and thirty years didn’t stand between them.

The book tumbled from his fingers, falling to the floor with a  _ snap _ just loud enough to pull Aziraphale out of his reverie. His head jerked over his shoulder, but no – a stray wind had blown open the shop door, nothing more than that. He was alone.

He was always alone now.

Leaning over to pick up  _ Hamlet, _ a drop of water fell, marking the page. Where had that come from?

Aziraphale brushed a hand across his cheek, and found it wet…as were his eyes, filled with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'd like to say "I thought chapter 4, time for angst!" but this chapter was actually written first, and outside of the context of a 5+1 it was *just* a gut punch.
> 
> Interestingly, the original prompt was "Deep Kiss" and it contained the One-Kiss-Becomes-More hinted at in chapter 2 as well as much of the dream-like surrealism of chapter 3. This version, with the prompt "Cheek-to-Cheek" is streamed down, simplified to just what it needs to be.
> 
> Chapter 5 will be along in a few hours, and takes place in 1941.
> 
> Please drop a comment if you're enjoying the story so far!
> 
> "Don't Dream It's Over" is the 1986 rock ballad by Crowded House, though it has been covered by at least two other performers. I wasn't going to listen to the full song again, but I'm glad I did, because I remembered the chorus goes:
> 
> Hey now, hey now  
> Don't dream it's over  
> Hey now, hey now  
> When the world comes in  
> They come, they come  
> To build a wall between us  
> We know they won't win.


	5. 1941 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains some emotional distress.
> 
> (Also, since we're getting to the point of reality ensuing, I've put some notes on consent in the endnotes.)

Aziraphale held Crowley’s heel in his hand, gently wiping the ball of his foot with a dripping cloth. The other foot soaked in the tub of water, warm, gently steaming. His walk across the church floor had left blisters, and there was little Aziraphale could do to heal them. But he could tend to them, nonetheless.

He wanted, very much, to thank Crowley. But they didn’t say  _ thank you, _ that wasn’t how they operated. This was all he had to offer.

On the sofa, Crowley murmured, a little sound of relief, of pleasure, of exhaustion. He was very nearly asleep, slumped onto the cushions, arms hanging loose beside him. So different from the energy he usually showed, the way he’d hopped into the church, all full of clever ideas and witty speech…

Crowley’s head nodded as he drifted off. Aziraphale’s hands kept moving of their own accord as he watched, the purse of Crowley’s lips, the lock of hair that broke free to fall across his forehead.

Perhaps he should fetch a blanket, tuck it around Crowley. Sit beside him on the sofa. Tug him down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Kiss his sleep-soft lips as he drifted off.

He could imagine it perfectly; Aziraphale was very experienced in daydreaming by now. He could imagine how Crowley would stir, ever so slightly, one golden eye cracking open, then shutting just as quick. The way the little smile would struggle to remain hidden, even as he tipped his head back, offering his lips for another kiss.

Aziraphale would laugh, softly. “No, you’ve had one already. You need to sleep now, my dear.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley would complain, and pout until Aziraphale relented, bending down to give him a second, a third, a fourth.

“You were marvelous today,” Aziraphale would murmur, his lips hovering close above Crowley’s. “Of course, you’re always marvelous. My wonderful Crowley.”

One more kiss, perhaps, and then settle Crowley comfortably on his shoulder to sleep, arm around him. Aziraphale could imagine it, the warmth he felt in Crowley’s feet, only pressed all down the length of his side. “I’m…I’m so glad you came,” he would confess, not sure if the demon could still hear him. “I wasn’t sure if you would after…after the dreadful things I said.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley muttered, “I’ll always come for you.”

Aziraphale froze, half pulled back to reality by the words he was sure he’d heard – not imagined,  _ heard. _

“Ah…” He glanced up at where Crowley’s head was bent entirely over the back of the sofa. “Crowley? Are you…?”

No response except a snore, surprisingly gentle.

Tugging at the thread of his daydream – not quite snapped – Aziraphale slid back into it, imagining Crowley curling against him. In his mind, he asked, uncertainly, “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmh,” said Crowley – the real Crowley – the one sprawled on his own on the sofa. “Course I can. Not that far gone yet.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, in his mind and out loud.

“Something wrong?”

It wasn’t perfectly clear, of course. Crowley didn’t so much talk in his sleep as mumble. But the “Smmm’ng rn,” he managed in reality perfectly matched the tone and inflection of the words in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Could you…” In his mind he prodded Crowley’s shoulder urgently. “Could you…be a dear and…and just sit up for a moment? Wake yourself up?”

“Don’t wanna,” he complained, but sat up, opening his eyes.

Only in the daydream. The real Crowley continued to sleep, and to mumble.

“Oh, oh, this is quite troubling,” the angel said, getting up to pace nervously in the dream world, as his other self continued patting at Crowley’s foot with a wet cloth. “Oh, oh, this really shouldn’t be happening.”

As an angel, of course, he had the ability to enter dreams. The dreams of  _ mortals, _ though, surely not of ethereal beings. And he had to will himself to do it, it was quite difficult, requiring a meditative state and some sort of connection, a physical or emotional bond.

“Is something wrong?” Crowley stood up and followed him, not limping, naturally, in this dream his feet wouldn’t hurt at all.

Of course, the foot washing. That must be the physical bond keeping them connected.

He dropped Crowley’s foot immediately, splashing water all across his knees and the carpet around him. The demon stirred, slightly, but that was all. The dream didn’t dissolve, and Crowley’s golden eyes still watched him with concern “Tell me, Angel, I can help.” His hand reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

“No!” Aziraphale stepped back, pulling away. This wasn’t right, this _wasn’t right at all._ His mind was now quite agitated, they were no longer touching, surely, surely that was enough. Normally when he entered a human’s dream, he had to fight to maintain the contact, like swimming against the current. But somehow he’d crossed into Crowley’s mind without even noticing.

Had he done this before?

_ How would he know? _

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tried to smile, even as he circled around his armchair. “Crowley. My dear. Er. Do you ever…ah, remember your dreams?”

“Almost always, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair. “Why?”

“Nothing. No. Um. Do you…do you ever dream about me?” He held his breath.

Crowley grinned, white teeth flashing. “Oh, yes. All the time.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in the squeak of distress.  _ That doesn’t mean anything, surely? _ “What…what sort of…dreams?”

“Nnnnh.” A lopsided smile. “I don’t like to tell. Kind of embarrassing.” But he leaned closer anyway. “There was one where I was a princess in a tower, and you came to rescue me, but I turned into a dragon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face grew quite warm.

“Used to have that one a  _ lot _ actually.” Crowley rubbed his chin. “Ehhh, let’s see, this fantastic one involving a masked ball in Florence, another one where you rescued me from pirates – I remember because the very next night I had the exact same dream, only it was  _ me _ rescuing  _ you. _ Hmmm. At least five different ones where we’re both humans, ah, usually with flowers or coffee involved somewhere. And  _ lots  _ of kissing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Other stuff, too. Not sure you’d approve.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. Oh, he would very  _ much _ approve – he remembered coming up with each of those scenarios, remembered how real they’d felt as they played out in his mind, how vivid.

And how rapidly they’d spun out of his control once Crowley started speaking, always to a better place than he could have predicted…

It was rather the  _ opposite _ of how a dream visitation went. Which could only mean, Aziraphale wasn’t in Crowley’s dream.  _ Crowley was in his. _

How much control did he have? Could he  _ force _ Crowley to play along with a fantasy? He should test it, but the very idea was abhorrent. Not to mention the only thing he  _ actually _ desired right now was for Crowley to  _ wake up _ and that wasn’t  _ happening! _

“Did you ever…” He thought as quickly as he could. “Did you ever dream about us – us…dancing?”

“Nnnnno…”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Of course not, Crowley would  _ never _ agree to—

“I mean, I  _ did _ dream that we were in this room with…piano music, and you were teaching me how to hop around, but I certainly wouldn’t call that  _ dancing.” _

“The gavotte is  _ certainly _ a dance and – oh, good  _ lord.” _

“That was it! How’d you know?” Crowley stepped out from behind the chair. “Something like this,” he tried a couple quick coupés, very inexpertly done. “Only went along because I liked how you smiled.”

Did that mean Crowley  _ could have _ stopped if he wanted to? No, Aziraphale had played out that fantasy dozens of times, and the demon had almost never complained. “Did you…” his voice was very faint. “Did you dream that often?” Oh, no, Aziraphale had been thinking about it just the other day…

“Nh. Only once, ages ago.”

The angel sighed. Good.

“Now, on the other hand,” and that wicked grin came back, “there was this  _ really interesting _ dream about the Bastille, and that one would  _ not _ stop coming. You want to know the details of that?”

Aziraphale stumbled back, crying out in horror. No, he didn’t need to be told about  _ that  _ one. It had occupied him for many weeks. Replaying the rescue…the dinner…imagining what might have come after…

He’d choreographed it out in quite  _ explicit _ detail.

How long? How long had he been forcing his _twisted fantasies_ onto Crowley?

“Hey, Angel.” He looked up to find Crowley approaching slowly, head ducked, hands out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t tease. It’s a lot to take in.” Arms around him, gentle, pulling him in, pressing his head down to Crowley’s shoulder. “Look, yeah, some of them were…intense…but usually I just dream of us being…us. Just talking, like this. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s jacket. It felt so  _ real _ under his fingers. He remembered that from too many fantasies, the  _ tactile _ details, too subtle for a dream. The roughness of that coat sliding off to the cell floor, the smooth linen of the shirt underneath, the way the cravat slipped through his fingers as he unknotted it…

“But some of them were…” He pulled closer, and was horrified to realize how  _ familiar _ Crowley’s body felt against his, how gentle the fingers on his back. He pushed away. Aziraphale had to be the one in control here. “Crowley, you dreamt about us—”

“Aaaaah,” Crowley ducked his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, I  _ always _ woke up before…they weren’t  _ really _ those kinds of dreams.”

“Are you just lying to make me – to spare my—”

“You know I’d never lie to you.”

That hit almost as hard as anything else. His heart was ready to burst.

Aziraphale pressed shaking fingers to his eyes, focusing for a few seconds on the real floor, where he knelt back in reality, dampness of water spilled from the footbath creeping into his knees. Trying to ground himself. As if that were possible.

“How…” He gulped for breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. “How long…”  _ Calm yourself! _ “Do you recall when you started having these dreams?”

“The Ark, I think.” Crowley rubbed his neck, eyes lost in memory. “Yeah. I remember, I, uh, I really wished you’d talk to me, and then…”

_ And I wished I had someone to talk to.  _ Somehow, their proximity, or their state of mind, or their shared nature had created a bond…and that bond had dragged Crowley into his mind, again and again, for thousands of years.

Aziraphale felt sick, and no amount of breathing exercises could help.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley held his hand out, but this time it was a simple offering. Not reaching for the angel, simply inviting him to reach back. “I don’t know why you’re…upset…”

“I’m so sorry…” It was all he could manage.

“S’fine,” Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Nothing to be sorry about. I  _ like _ the dreams.” He stepped forward. “I like it when you…you talk to me. Trust me. Confide in me.” Crowley stopped just inches away, close enough for Aziraphale to feel the heat of him, the soft brush of breath through his hair. “No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

It was finally enough of a shock to break the connection.

Aziraphale stumbled away from the sofa with a strangled gasp, like a man awakened from a nightmare. Crowley still lay, feet in the tub of water, just where Aziraphale had left him, but now he seemed to be moving with intent, waking.

No. No, no, no, no…

This night had brought too many surprises, too many turns, Aziraphale couldn’t take another, couldn’t confront the questions,  _ could not do this. _

\--

“No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

But it didn’t make Aziraphale any less agitated. Crowley couldn’t think what could be upsetting him this badly. He’d been calm enough, back on the sofa when they’d kissed…

They’d kissed…

“Oh,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at the sofa, soft as a bed, covered in blankets.  _ “This _ is a dream. Obviously.”

First thing he noticed was his feet, wet, the water still warm but cooling. Next was the awkward angle of his neck, stiff and sore. Third was the trail of drool.

Crowley swatted at his mouth, wiping it clear, then sat up, tilting his neck and rubbing at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.

What a  _ weird _ dream.

He’d said too much in his dream, always had. As if the mental blocks that helped him keep calm evaporated as soon as he fell asleep. But he’d never seen Aziraphale as  _ anything _ other than patient and accepting, so why would he...  


Wait. Shit. Aziraphale.

He looked around the shop, trying to fix his hair, his glasses, and his shirt at the same time. He did  _ not _ want the angel seeing him like that. It was bad enough his  _ rescue _ had gone so badly off-script, this would be a _disaster—_

The shop was empty, no sign of movement anywhere. How long had he been asleep?

Then, a clink of ceramic-on-ceramic from the shadowy little kitchen.

Crowley stood carefully, testing his feet to see if they were still sore. No, the blisters seemed to have been soothed by the bath. Bloody miracle. He’d have to find some way to repay Aziraphale, without being too obvious.

Assuming they were talking again.

He padded across the carpet, trying not to track water, though it seemed the rug was already wet, and paused just outside the door of the back room. “Angel? You alright?”

“Fine. Perfectly – why wouldn’t I be?” He stood before the sink, scrubbing dutifully at a plate.

“Well. You’re standing here in the dark.”

“Am I?” He didn’t even turn. “No matter. I can  _ see _ in the dark, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced back at the rest of the shop, lit up bright as anything, despite the bombing and the city-wide black out. “Anyway, I, uh, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. How long was I out?”

“No! I mean, were you asleep? I hardly noticed.” The sudsy water sloshed as he worked on some imperceptible stain. “I mean, I noticed, but, well, not long. Yes.”

“Ngk.”  _ Something _ was wrong. Aziraphale had been all awkward smiles and warm, gentle insistence when they’d come in, and now…He’d have thought his dream was some sort of omen, except Crowley didn’t believe in such things. He  _ did _ believe in his own ability to mess things up, though, and he had ample evidence for the existence of  _ that. _ “M’feet feel better,” he attempted. “So. That’s good.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. You should be able to get yourself home, then.”

“Yeah, I…”

What? What the Heaven was he even supposed to say?

_ Look, Aziraphale, I blew up a bunch of Nazis for you, is it too much to ask for you to just make  _ eye contact _ with me? What more do you want from me? _

He’d thought this would do it. This would make Aziraphale realize that Crowley – that they shouldn’t be  _ fighting,  _ they should  _ talk _ again, but what would even be the  _ point _ of that, since any time he tried he just tripped over his own blessed tongue and made things worse?

But of course not, even in  _ his dream _ he’d managed to ruin the night, why should reality be any different?

He took a breath and turned away.

“Nh. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Maybe in a few more decades Aziraphale would be ready to talk. Just had to give him space, right?

“I…I suppose you will.”

He manifested shoes back onto his feet – next time he walked on hallowed ground, he should bring  _ real shoes, _ that might give him some shielding – and strode across the shop, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Crowley.” He turned back, one hand on the door. Aziraphale stood in the shadow of the kitchen, almost hiding behind the doorframe. “Ah. Don’t…don’t be a stranger.”

He concentrated on the doorknob, tapping his fingers, swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down from his throat. “Yeah. I – I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The prompt for this one was "Sleepy Good Night Kisses/Head on Shoulder" and I think I covered both, though there was rather a lot going on! I assure you, from this point on the boys are talking again, at least in reality.
> 
> "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" is a 2004 release by the American band Green Day, which seems impossible because I'm sure I remember it from much earlier than that. But Wikipedia doesn't lie. Perhaps I should have chosen a more optimistic song to go with their reunion, but the loneliness of the song fits them still not quite communicating...
> 
> As promised above, notes on consent:  
> I had two different sensitivity readers look at this, and we decided despite the fact that this sort of dreamsharing *could* get into DubCon territory, this one did not. For one thing, as Crowley states, there's never any actual sex in the dreams (or at least, he wakes up first); and for another, neither is in a situation of being able to coerce the other.
> 
> I don't usually spell out "the rules" in my magic (unless I can fit it into the fic itself) but just to put everyone's minds at rest:  
> *Aziraphale and Crowley are both equally in control of their own minds, choices, and actions in the dreams  
> *Aziraphale is "in control" in that he starts the dream and chooses the scenario. Crowley, however, is able to resist, do what he likes instead, and even restructure the dream to suit him (as seen in chapter 3)  
> *Aziraphale cannot pull Crowley into a dream he doesn't want to be in (as with the gavotte above)  
> *Crowley is capable of leaving a dream if he does not like where it's going (the only one not clearly established in the story, but it's my story so...)
> 
> I hope you are enjoying the fic so far. One more part to go!


	6. 2019: Dream Until Your Dreams Come True

For the first few weeks after the Apocalypse failed, they simply reveled in being  _ normal. _ Going for walks. Eating dinner. Talking about nothing and everything.

Not that they spent every day together. Aziraphale took three days to re-catalog every book in his shop, or at least that’s what he claimed; Crowley couldn’t discern any  _ organizational strategy, _ just piles of dusty books moved from one table to the next.

Crowley had taken some time for himself, too. A long drive, an even longer nap. Nearly a full week, sprawled in bed with the softest sheets and duvet humanity could devise.

No dreams of Aziraphale, though, not a single one in seventy-eight years. It wasn’t  _ so _ unusual – he’d gone the odd century without them, over the millennia – but he did miss it. And it was strange, that the final dream had been the one where he’d somehow come on too strong and frightened Aziraphale off.

Well. He wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. They’d come back when they came back.

Tonight, though, the very  _ real _ Aziraphale was in his kitchen. Crowley had wowed him with a gourmet meal containing a dozen of his favorite dishes; further wowed him by somehow setting the sticky toffee pudding on fire; and confessed to having had the actual dinner courses delivered from several high-end Mayfair restaurants, all while Aziraphale laughed so hard his eyes filled with tears.

Then he’d looked up and smiled, eyes that were more than a little warm meeting Crowley’s from across the room and--

Well, Crowley could only consider the night a raging success.

At last they stood on the balcony, sipping wine, and gazing out across the city – the world – that hadn’t been destroyed. At least, Aziraphale was looking at the world; Crowley’s eyes remained much closer to home, and he wasn’t sure his glasses could hide that.

“I uh…” Crowley cleared his throat. “I have…stuff…to say.” Brilliant.

“As do I.”

Crowley’s heart leapt – then crashed into his stomach at the worried look on Aziraphale’s face – then rose again as he remembered that Aziraphale  _ always _ looked that way when he had something big to discuss, good or bad – then dropped to his feet when he recalled how rarely Aziraphale had something  _ good _ to share.

Twenty seconds in and he already had vertigo. This was going to go  _ great. _

“Ah. Good. Um. Ngk. So. Uh. Should – should I go first? Or…euh…”

“I believe I should begin. Though I…I don’t know quite how…”

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” Crowley carefully set his glass of wine on the metal railing, which might have been too thin to support it, but the glass wouldn’t dare wobble. He thought about reaching for Aziraphale’s hand, but decided against it when he saw how the fingers nervously twisted against each other. Better not to intrude. He stepped back, shuffling his feet, trying to give the angel his space. “Would it…hngh…would it help if I said…I think I know what you’re going to say?”

“No.” A quick flash of blue eyes, pained and lost. “No, I – I don’t think it’s what you expect at all.”

Crowley sucked in a breath and nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. Right. Of course not.

Every instinct screamed for him to run, get away, wait for…whatever it was to blow over. If he ducked into the bedroom, Aziraphale wouldn’t dare follow, even if he slept for a month.

But he couldn’t run away, not from Aziraphale, not anymore. If they were going to make this – make  _ Our Side _ work – well, they were going to have to communicate.

He’d much rather face off against Satan again.

As for what Aziraphale was probably going to say – he’d rather face the whole of Armageddon…

No.  _ Our Side. _ They could do this. Just take the hit and find a way forward.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

“I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I suppose…well, it started five thousand years ago when I – I had something I very much needed to say, and I somehow – entirely by accident mind, though, really, the intrusion is, is simply  _ unforgivable—” _ he gasped a little over the word. “I somehow touched your mind while you slept and…and pulled you into my thoughts…”

Aziraphale had been right about one thing. What followed was, to put it mildly,  _ not what he expected at all. _

\--

Aziraphale laid out all the facts as quickly as he could, trying to explain what he thought had happened. He glanced at Crowley a few times – the demon’s jaw was completely slack, a look of complete  _ dumbfounderment. _

Good lord. Shocked into silence, not even one of his trademark subvocal grunts. Aziraphale couldn’t even  _ remember _ the last time that had happened.

“So, well. As near as I can discern…” He tugged on his waistcoat so hard he thought it would tear. “The, er, the first few…encounters…required us to be quite close, and – and, ah,  _ desiring _ the same thing of each other.” Was it hot out here on the balcony? Oh dear. “But, ah, eventually, as you…you…”  _ Just say it.  _ “…you fell in love with…with that version of me, I was able to – to pull you in, I think, whenever I…wished to, er, to see you, regardless of the…the reason for…for my…yes.”

He stumbled to a halt. For an eternity, the silence hung over them, so complete even the street below seemed to disappear.

“You  _ wot?” _ Crowley finally demanded.

“Oh, ah, please don’t make me repeat all that.”

Crowley’s head bobbled, nodding and shaking at the same time, his jaw so tight Aziraphale worried his teeth would crack. Then the demon sprang into motion, crossing nearly to the sliding door back into the kitchen before spinning around again. “You saw – you saw  _ all _ of my dreams of you?”

“I believe so. Or rather, you – you saw mine. We could, er, compare, if you wish.” Oh, no, the idea of dissecting every one of his – his foolish fantasies…

“Ngk.” Crowley reeled. “No. Just.” His fingers ran through his hair, creating a mess of red spikes.  _ “All _ of them? Even the – the one on the Greek island…”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling sick. “Yes, I’d been, ah, doing a tour of the Aegean and…well…there was this lovely beach, and I couldn’t stop imagining…” A rather vivid memory of a hot sun on pebbled beach, long arms and limbs twined all around him, as Crowley licked the saltwater and sweat from his collarbone… He swallowed. “I – I – I’m terribly sorry if I caused you any, um,  _ discomfort.” _

“Ha!” Though there wasn’t much humor behind the laugh, just incredulity. “Don’t think I’d call that  _ uncomfortable.” _ He ran his hands down his face, pulling at the skin of his cheeks. “What about…what about…”

Aziraphale could  _ see  _ his eyes going wide with panic, even behind the black sunglasses. “Please, don’t…”

“And all the – the things I said! In Rome…Venice…Munich…New York…Vienna…Edinburgh.” He seemed to lose his balance for a second.  _ “Edinburgh!” _

Ah yes. Sitting on the cliffs at the edge of the city, Crowley’s head in his lap, composing poetry for each other. Crowley’s had been quite marvelously romantic, and Aziraphale had rewarded him with a kiss each time.

“I…I don’t know how I…”

“Paris.  _ The Bastille!” _ No teasing smile this time, Crowley looked as mortified as Aziraphale felt. “The whole bloody  _ month—” _

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands. “I – I didn’t mean – I’m so—”

“No wonder you hate me!”

What?

Slowly, Aziraphale lowered his fingers, peeking at Crowley’s stricken face. “Why…why would I…?”

But Crowley shook his head. “I always told myself I’d – I’d give you space. Let you…decide for yourself…what you wanted, but.” He turned away. “There I was, the whole time, forcing my thoughts on you.”

“No…” he tugged his coat straight. “That wasn’t –  _ I’m _ the one who dragged  _ you…” _ Perhaps he hadn’t been clear after all. Aziraphale glanced out over the city, took a breath, and tried again. “I’ve…I’ve thought it through quite…quite thoroughly. I can remember them all. And…and every fantasy came from something  _ I’d _ been thinking,  _ I’d _ experienced. Something  _ I _ desired.” He closed his eyes, feeling a tear run down his face. How undignified. “You’ll, ah, you’ll see it too. Once you know…know what to look for. The – the moments of connection are…fairly obvious.”

“But you said…” The sound of footsteps as Crowley paced. “You said your – your – your…whatever you want to call it, everything went off as soon as I arrived!”

“Well…I suppose but…it wasn’t…everything was perfectly in line with…with…what I wanted.”

Another interminable silence. He waited for Crowley to walk away. Surely any second…

“Yeah. Me too.”

He glanced to the side and – oh, dear. Crowley hadn’t been pacing, he’d been walking closer. “What…what do you mean?”

“Just.” He looked down at his feet. “Y’know. The things I said. I…I do wish…I could…in real life.” Shook his head. “Been trying to for days.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale thought about the things Crowley said in the dreams.  _ “Oh.” _ Another pull on his waistcoat, straighten the tie, try to think. “I assumed you…you only…that your feelings were…were for that…that version of myself.”

“Isn’t…” Crowley rocked where he stood, hands in his pockets. “Isn’t that…are you…is ‘dream you’ different from ‘real you’?”

“Well.” He’d run out of articles of clothing to adjust. Perhaps Aziraphale should start wearing a watch? “I suppose…I’m more…more  _ bold _ than I would be in reality. More certain of myself. More open. But…no, that’s…not  _ fundamentally _ different, no.” He tugged at his sleeves, just in case they were somehow wrong. “I think...I’m just...more how I...I wish I could be.”

“Nh.” One more sway, and Crowley stepped forward, almost close enough for their toes to touch. “I always…know what to say. In the dreams. But. Um.” He glanced up, and Aziraphale saw a flash of golden eyes above black lenses. “I did…write all that poetry… _ weeks _ before the dream.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale tapped his fingers against his legs. “Wait.” He looked up, indignation replacing embarrassment. “You said you were – were making it up as you went! You lied to me!”

“It was a  _ dream!  _ I thought I was!” He scowled, but somehow that made Aziraphale feel worlds better. “You can’t just – just pop a sonnet off the top of your head!”

“I certainly did!”

“You certainly  _ tried.” _

“Well! See if I compose any verses for you again!” But, strangely, for the first time since the conversation started, Aziraphale felt ready to smile.

He took a deep breath. One thing he had to know for sure.

“Crowley…If you only  _ thought _ you were composing those…well, did you perhaps…only think you wanted to…go along.”

“No.” Another step closer.

“How can you be sure?”

“Well…” Crowley rolled out the word, tipping his head back. “How many times did you think about teaching me that bloody dance?”

“Quite a few,” Aziraphale confessed.

“Mnh. Well. I wanted to know where you were…I wanted to know you were…you know…alright. So I let you teach me but…I never wanted to try again. And I didn’t.” He looked down again, watching his toe move across the ground. “And, um, did you ever dream of me teaching you to disco?”

“Certainly not!”

“So, I wasn’t influencing you either.” His fingers emerged from his pockets, dangling close to Aziraphale’s. “But um. The…Bastille. I always woke up right when it, ah, when it was getting… _ interesting.” _ He ducked his chin but looked up. “I… _ did _ want to know how the dream ended.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s face burned. “It…quite…quite well, thank you for inquiring.”

“Grrrgh!” Crowley spun away suddenly, raking his hands through his hair. “Why is this so hard? I’ve already – we’ve already—” He glanced back. “Look, Aziraphale. Yes. Everything we did…I’d like to say, and, and do…or at least  _ try,  _ right? I just…”

“I…also…don’t know…quite how to proceed.” But he forced himself to look up, to meet Crowley’s gaze across the landing, to acknowledge that endless array of emotions neither of them could quite put into words and - at last, at last, he smiled. “I…would very much like to, though. With you.”

Crowley turned a rather brilliant shade of red, turned away - but when he turned back, the glasses were clutched in his hand. And the softness in his eyes made Azirapahle’s heart turn over in his chest. “Pity we can’t just…continue this in a dream.”

“Can’t we?” With his eyes bared to the world, the look of shock was raw, exaggerated, and in Aziraphale’s opinion quite satisfactory. “I…believe I’ve taught myself to control it now. Which also means…I could  _ start _ one. On command, as it were.”

“Oh?” Crowley crossed quickly to where his wine glass still sat on the railing, drained it in one gulp. “That’s um…”

“Not the Bastille, of course,” Aziraphale rushed. “I think that’s…something…perhaps not. But…I have an idea where we can...start.”

“Nkh. Nfrd.” Crowley tried to gesture with the wineglass and launched it off the balcony entirely. “Akgh.”

“Is…is that a yes?”

“Mmh.” He took a breath, grabbing the railing for support. “How…would it work? Will I know it’s a dream?”

“Most likely not. I’ve taught myself to...to be more lucid, more aware, and I could teach you. It will take some time, but...even so, I don’t know if I’ll be able to, um, maintain perspective when I’m, ah, in the thick of it. But I can… stick to fantasies where…where we simply talk and…and enjoy each other’s company. Nothing…physical. At least.” He placed his hand on the railing, next to Crowley’s. “At least until we’re sure of our…our sense of control.”

“Nh. Sounds good. And.” He cleared his throat, glancing nervously. “I think…I want to try…things…in reality, first.”

“I…yes. As well.” Aziraphale wanted to move his hand those last few centimeters. Wanted that more than anything. “When shall we…?”

“Tonight?” Crowley caught his gaze, held it, and Aziraphale drank in the mix of fear and hope, knowing his own eyes looked the same. “I’d like…before I lose my nerve. Yeah.”

“I would…” he swallowed, reached his fingers ever so slightly closer. Almost. “Yes. I as well.”

\--

Aziraphale walked down the wooded path; just ahead stood the tiny stone cottage, unchanged since he’d first seen it, nestled in a perfect glade over eleven hundred years ago. Golden sunbeams landed on the grass, the flowers, reflected up from the pond in the back. When the wind came from the south, it carried the sharp tang of sea salt.  


At the corner of the cottage, Crowley looked up from the blackberry bush, and his eyes gleamed, for all the world like captured sunbeams. “Angel! Look, they’re perfectly ripe.” He turned, scoop of his tunic filled with the tiny fruits, almost to the point of spilling out.

“Sounds like we got here just in time.” Aziraphale came closer, and all of his worries, his anxieties, everything that had held him back melted away. Why had he ever doubted himself? This was  _ Crowley, _ his Crowley, his dearest friend, his heart, his soul.

“You mean  _ you _ got here in time, I’ve been waiting for ages.” Crowley’s fingers - stained purple-black from the berry juice - plucked out one, a cluster of little bumps tipped by tiny hairs. “Here, saved it for you.”

Aziraphale parted his lips, accepting the offering - tasting the tart, almost gritty berry, feeling the rush of juice pour across his tongue and hit the back of his throat - so much more  _ real  _ than any fantasy. Crowley’s thumb caught a bit of juice at the corner of Aziraphale’s lips, wiped it clear.

“Darling, that’s mine!” Catching Crowley’s hand, he drew it back, kissing the droplet off the pad of his thumb, letting Crowley cup his palm around the curve of Azirpahale’s cheek. Warm, slightly rough with callouses Aziraphale would never have expected. “I do believe I missed you.”

“Hmmm. Me, too.” Crowley leaned close, brushed his lips across Aziraphale’s cheekbone in a slow, lingering kiss. “Dunno where you were but...don’t go away again.”

“I won’t.” Aziraphale turned his head until his nose brushed along the length of Crowley’s, felt the little shivers up his spine. “I’ll never leave you again.”

He wanted to kiss Crowley, so very badly. Let the blackberries tumble down to be crushed under their feet as he pushed his demon back against the wall--

No, he’d promised. Nothing physical. They would do that in reality, and it would be so much better than he could imagine.

So, instead, Aziraphale tugged on the hem of Crowley’s tunic. “Come on, let’s get these inside. I think we’re going to have a  _ lovely _ pie for dinner, and then perhaps a nice walk to the shore. I can’t remember the last time we went down.”

Crowley caught his hand, and together they walked into their home, their little cottage in the South Downs, their shared dream that, one day soon, they would make a reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read! This was a wild trip to write, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
> 
> The prompt for this one was Cheekbone Kiss paired with The Look From Across The Room. I hope I've done both justice! As for these boys...I think they're going to be alright. :)
> 
> "Dream until your dreams come true" is a line from American band Aerosmith's 1973 hit "Dream On."
> 
> To all my readers: thank you all so, so much!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> "Dream a Little Dream of Me" is a 1931 song by Fabian Andre and Wilbur Schwandt, with lyrics by Gus Kahn. First recorded by Ozzie Nelson and His Orchestra, the best known version is the 1968 release by the Mamas & the Papas.
> 
> Shout out to Elf-on-the-Shelf and Sosser86 for helping me get this together.
> 
> This was really fun to write, and I hope you all had just as much fun reading it! Please drop a comment below and let me know what you think!


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